


Friendship Is Pretty Great, Huh?

by FriedCatfish



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: AU - Underswap, Gen, possibly qualifies as body horror, these skeletons deserve better and these children need a lot of help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 13:35:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5250065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriedCatfish/pseuds/FriedCatfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your smile, which had disappeared for a while, comes back in full force. Part of that is the knowledge that once you get out of here you'll be super rich and you can take care of yourself and you can eat steak and ice cream for dinner every night, probably. Part of that is the soothing, repetitive noise of the thick branch in your hand, both a walking stick and a serviceable club, as it bangs against the floor.</p><p>And part of that is the knowledge that the fool before you, tall and broad and clad in that ugly sweatshirt, is finally about to die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friendship Is Pretty Great, Huh?

**Author's Note:**

> let's be real...
> 
> if papyrus did have to render the final judgement, he'd be pretty lousy at it.

Even you have to admit, the hallway is gorgeous. You tell yourself that it can't be paved with gold – that would be **ridiculous –** it must be paint or something, but the way the stained-glass-filtered sunlight gleams off of every brick tells you otherwise (and your oh-so-knowledgeable companion confirms it). You guess it makes sense. The monsters down here apparently had a **lot** of gold.

Your smile, which had disappeared for a while, comes back in full force. Part of that is the knowledge that once you get out of here you'll be super rich and you can take care of yourself and you can eat steak and ice cream for dinner every night, probably. Part of that is the soothing, repetitive noise of the thick branch in your hand, both a walking stick and a serviceable club, as it bangs against the floor.

And part of that is the knowledge that the fool before you, tall and broad and still wearing that hideous sweatshirt, is finally about to die.

He turns around as if to face you, but refuses to meet your gaze – he just stares at the ground, tears falling down like raindrops.

“...HUMAN.”

You give him a little nod, just to acknowledge you heard him, and keep moving towards him.

“YOU HAVE KILLED THE FORMER KING, WHO I TRADED RECIPES WITH EVERY DAY FOR MONTHS. YOU HAVE KILLED UNDYNE, MY FRIEND. MY... COLLEAGUE, ONCE.”

In the back of your head, someone else's thoughts pop in -- _a_ _bout time this clown learned to say something funny_ \-- and you laugh.

“...EVEN MY BROTHER... MY BROTHER, WHO WOULD NEVER HURT A FLY. MY BROTHER, WHO HAD NO LV WHATSOEVER... MY BROTHER, WHO WANTED NOTHING MORE THAN TO CONVINCE HIMSELF THERE WAS STILL SOME HOPE...” He clenches and unclenches his fists. “YOU MADE HIM FIGHT. UNTIL HE WAS PRACTICALLY A PUDDLE ON THE GROUND. BECAUSE YOU WANTED TO SEE WHAT IT WAS LIKE. YOU WANTED TO SEE HIS CANNONS, AND GET THROWN AROUND, AND HAVE A _REAL CHALLENGE,_ RIGHT? AND FOR THAT... YOU DUSTED HIM.”

For a moment, he goes quiet, and you wait for him to say something. Nothing -- he just stands there, staring at the ground, trying to collect himself. You walk a few steps forward, and the echo of your footsteps seems to bring him back to reality. He raises his oversized sleeve to his face and wipes the tears away.

“BUT, HUMAN... EVEN AFTER EVERYTHING... I WILL NOT KILL YOU.” Now, finally, he raises his head, his right eyesocket glowing a brilliant orange _(orange like sunrise, orange like crinkling through fallen leaves, orange like pumpkin pie)_.

He is forcing himself to smile, and you can tell how much it hurts.

“YOUR LV... YOUR _LEVEL OF VIOLENCE_ , I SHOULD SAY... IS STILL ONLY 19. THAT MEANS... THAT MEANS THERE'S STILL HOPE. YOU CAN STILL **TURN BACK.** ” The way he says it – your “friend” notices it, too. _How long has he known we can LOAD?_

Doesn't matter.

You continue to walk forward, lifting your branch off the ground and wielding it in both hands. He raises his hand. “TAKE ONE MORE STEP, AND YOU **WILL** HAVE A BAD TIME, HUMAN.”

You laugh, and so does Frisk. _What can that idiot do to you?_ they ask.

And so you take one more step.

“SO BE IT.”

_Click-click._

His eyes are shut tight, as if he thinks that he can stop the tears from flowing. He can't. He's a pushover, asking to be hurt. He doesn't understand the way this world works at all.

“...IT IS... A BEAUTIFUL DAY, ISN'T IT?” He all but chokes on his words. The sunlight streaming through the entrance to the Underground, lighting the stained glass gold... he clearly couldn't care less about it.

“BIRDS ARE SINGING, FLOWERS ARE BLOOMING. ON A DAY LIKE THIS, CHILDREN LIKE YOU...”

You see him ball his hands into fists, move one arm across his torso. For a brief moment, you panic – maybe he was lying, maybe he's going to kill you after all, maybe maybe maybe –

Your friend calms you down. _Even if he was lying, we can come back. We can always come back._ They seem to mull it over for a second before adding: _He wasn't, though._

Papyrus swings his arm to the side, and opens his palm. Then he does the same with the other one, holding them apart as wide as he can like he's a cartoon character exaggerating the size of a fish he caught.

“...SHOULD BE CUDDLING UP WITH A GOOD FRIEND, SOME GOOD FOOD, AND SOME BAD JOKES.”

_Papyrus is sparing us._

You begin to lift the branch, but hesitate. Something is nagging at the back of your mind -- besides the jerk who's been along for the ride since you fell, that is -- and it doesn't feel right to finish him off quite yet. You just... don't want it to end, is all. If it ends, there's no more content. No more to consume, no more numbers going up. You'll have to deal with that bittersweet feeling, that mix of triumph and regret that comes when you **finish** something and you know that you can never go back, and you've never been a fan of complicated feelings.

Whatever. Might as well check this guy's stats. Might be the last chance you get.

 

❤ Check 

 

The voice in your head, for the first time since you fell down here, is silent. A small, brief triumph. Even if you've come to an understanding, you're sick of their nagging and their running commentary.

But then again, you keep seeking it out, so you can only blame yourself. Fine. You have practice.

After what seems like an eternity, they speak, their voice echoing in a way it never has before.

 

_Papyrus. ATK 8, DEF 2._

_Even after everything... he wants to be friends._

 

Well, at least he won't take too much effort.

 

_Papyrus is sparing us._

 

No sense dilly-dallying any longer. Only one option worth your time.

 

❤ Fight

 

Doesn't bother to dodge, like his brother did, or block, or do much of anything, really. He just sits there, arms wide open, and barely even reacts when you slice his spine cleanly in two.

“AH. WELL.”

You ignore him, _which is easy enough._ He falls to pieces and you quickly crush some of the smaller bones underfoot. Grab one of the ribs and turn it over in your hand. Maybe you can whittle something cool out of this.

Eh. Maybe you can just smash it to bits, along with the rest. That's way easier, and more fun too.

“THAT'S... DISAPPOINTING! B-BUT...”

His body – or what's left of it, at least – starts to fade, and Frisk eagerly suggests that you crush the pieces to dust before they go away by themselves, like trying to swat soap bubbles out of the air. But his skull stays stubbornly intact, seemingly just so he can keep subjecting you to that grating voice of his. Even if it's cracking, getting caught in his lack-of-throat.

“I STILL BELIEVE IN YOU, HUMAN. IN FACT...”

 _What._ His body is nothing, now; his hoodie has fallen to the ground in a pathetic pile. Yet the skull hasn't budged an inch.

“ **I'M GOING TO GIVE YOU ANOTHER CHANCE!”**

A spine bursts forth, and then ribs and femurs and ulnas and humeri and all the ones neither of you know the names of come in, click into place. He's bigger now – nearly twice the size – and his grinning, too-small head would make the whole thing look comical if not for the fact that he's clearly miserable and you are both extremely, **extremely** irritated that he continues to defy you.

Still. New enemy, right? That means new stats. New flavor text. And, after all... _The Judge is sparing us,_ so what's the harm in wasting a turn?

 

❤ Check

 

_The Judge. ATK 4, DEF 5._

_Gives lenient sentences._

 

You can't contain your scorn, so you blurt out, “You're **weaker** now? After tapping into your Determination, you're **weaker?** What the hell kind of final boss are you supposed to be?”

_Are you really surprised, Chara?_

In spite of everything he's shown himself to be, yeah, you are. This isn't how it's supposed to **work.** That DJ's garbage “ZERO” form was a disappointment, sure, but at least you didn't expect much. **This** guy... all Sans ever talked about was how strong and cool he is. What a joke.

“OKAY, I WILL IGNORE THAT COMMENT AND INSTEAD POINT OUT THAT YOU'RE ON THE RIGHT TRACK! YOU DIDN'T ATTACK OR ANYTHING! BUT, UM, INSTEAD OF JUST 'NOT ATTACKING,' YOU HAVE TO DO THE WHOLE 'PROJECT AN AURA OF PACIFISM' THING. WHICH... I REALIZE YOU DON'T HAVE MUCH PRACTICE WITH... BUT I BELIEVE YOU CAN DO IT IF YOU TRY! OKAY?”

_The Judge is sparing us._

Whatever. You lash out again, and his heightened DEF doesn't do a thing. The stream of nines that flickers into your vision red and thick is just as long as last time. Maybe even longer.

You don't have to do any cleaning up, this time – his gigantic body doesn't even fade away, like you'd expect, but bursts all at once into a cloud of dust to fine to even see. His head, still somehow intact, falls to the ground and bounces off with a loud crack. A fissure tears through his eye, and a couple of his teeth get knocked loose.

Then, nothing. He just sits there, unable to proceed, and you patiently wait your turn, smiling down at him, until he finally finds the willpower to speak.

“STILL... STILL NO DICE, HUH?”

You nod, and bare your teeth. This is it, then. _No one left but the queen._

“THAT'S OKAY.”

You keep grinning, but it suddenly feels **extremely** forced. Must be how his loser brother felt after the fifth or sixth dodge.

“THE GREAT PAPYRUS... WILL NEVER GIVE UP ON A FRIEND!"

This time, his new body doesn't come so suddenly or so easily... he sort of _secretes_ it, rising on a pillar of white ooze that gradually forms into misshapen and out-of-scale bones. When he first manages to build two miserably mismatched legs, they're too small to hold up his pelvis, let alone the rest of him – so he creates another pair, then another and another. He teeters and stumbles around, but eventually finds his balance.

“HAH... YOU MIGHT THINK... THIS FORM IS INCONVENIENT!” He sweeps one of his arms to the side in a magnificent gesture, which is almost enough to tear it off his body entirely. “BUT THERE'S A SILVER LINING, YOU SEE... FOR NOW, I CAN WEAR **FOUR SEPARATE PAIRS** OF HOTPANTS! PROVIDED I EVER FIND A SHIRT BESIDES THAT OLD THING –” He taps the hoodie on the ground with one of his feet – “ANYWAY! NYEHEHE!”

You stare at him, dumbfounded. What the hell is **wrong** with this guy?

 

❤ Check

 

_Papyrus Eternal. ATK 2, DEF 10._

_Pretty stubborn for such a slacker._

 

You never  **did** get to fight that baker his brother kept going on about, did you? Maybe this is the next best thing, then. You can rip the legs off, one by one, and then... 

...No, that would be... unnecessary. You've put him through plenty of misery already. There'd be... no more enjoyment to gain from it, you're sure. And besides, Frisk is  **really** excited for you to meet their mom. They think the three of you are gonna have a  **lot** of fun.

 

❤ Fight

 

You shatter all... eleven, apparently... of his malformed kneecaps with one swing. He crumples to the ground, and the rest of the bones melt away. His skull starts to get a bit oozey, too, and for a moment you think you've finally finished him off.

_No such luck._

This time, he doesn't say anything before more bones start appearing and latching together. Judging by the expression on his face, maybe he can't afford to; it seems to be taking an **immense** amount of concentration, and even so, there's no real... "blueprint," for lack of a better word. He seems to just be throwing bones together in whatever arrangement he can manage, whatever arrangement will prevent him from finally biting the dust.

When he finishes, whatever resemblance he had to a **real** skeleton is long gone. There's bones, but they're all arranged wrong, forming lattices and pipes and walls and towers and bridges, doing anything but what they're actually supposed to do. A few phalanges and metatarsals, lacking a decent place to go, just sort of pile up in the corner.

Frisk giggles. Most emotion you've heard out of them since the “fight” with the captain of the guard.

_What a cool, unique jungle gym!_

_**It doesn't interest us at all.** _

This is getting **ludicrous.** Undyne _shot herself up_ with DT, for god's sake, and even she would have quit by now. It's...

It should be annoying. Why isn't it annoying?

Why does your stomach feel like that? He hasn't hit you there, or anywhere. He hasn't poisoned you like his stupid brother.

Maybe you shouldn't have eaten that snail pie out of the garbage.

 

❤ Check

 

_Really, Chara?_

You repeat yourself, because that's not an answer.

 

❤ Check

 

_It's not going to be anything useful or interesting._

 

❤ Check

 

You aren't budging on this.

_...Don't make me do this._

_Don't waste our time like that._

 

❤ Check

 

_**Fine.** _

_Papyrus the Great. ATK 1, DEF 15._

_Still hasn't given up on you._

_Maybe he never..._

_No. Keep attacking._

_He can't spare us forever._

_No one is that merciful._

 

Why do they sound so shaky, so unsure? Why are you tearing up?

“Big kids don't cry,” you say to yourself, and an instant later it strikes you how **childish** that is. You haven't gone far enough, yet. But he's the last thing standing in your way. The last thing preventing you from being strong, **really** strong.

Papyrus... **speaks,** you guess? It just sounds like nonsensical warbling and groaning and _creaking_ like a rusty gate or a warped floorboard.

Frisk butts in, and you're actually glad to hear their voice. Anything to distract you from **that.** Anything to distract you from what you've –

_Aren't you excited? Aren't you happy?_

You **are** happy, you tell them. Maybe not excited, because this is getting really tedious, but definitely happy. Frisk, clearly not buying it, continues to reassure you.

_We won't have to care about what anyone says anymore._

_They won't hurt us, ever again. They won't be_ _**able** _ _to._

_We're finally going to be free._

 

❤ Fight

 

The body crumbles and collapses like you just knocked over some other kid's block tower or pillow fort. You actively try to run into the bones, this time -- maybe if he does some damage to you, you'll stop feeling so off your game, stop getting so confused about this whole thing -- but just like Asgore's flames, they all seem to move away from you whenever you approach. The one time you actually do reach one, it turns orange just in time for you to run through it.

You wait for either more bones, or for him to give up the ghost.  _He's **gotta** be close. I promise you, he can't hold out much longer. Just... just a few more attacks, okay?_

No new bones appear, but Papyrus still hasn't given up. He's literally just a skull, now, and even that... well, it's pretty obvious he can't keep it together anymore. One of his eyesockets is fused shut, and the area around it is covered in cracks and getting worse with each passing moment; the other is dripping with liquefied bone like a poorly-made novelty candle. His jaw hangs limp and loose, and when he tries to say something, he finds it won't move.

But somehow, he's not turning to dust. Not turning to a pile of goop, either. The dripping bone keeps coming down, seemingly endless, but the “source,” the braincase or whatever, isn't getting any smaller. More deformed, sure, caving in here and pushing out there, but no smaller.

He just... floats there. Doesn't say anything, doesn't do anything. You're not sure he **could,** even if he wanted to, but even so...

_You can't tell for sure, but it's a safe bet that he's sparing us._

 

❤ Check

 

This time, Frisk hesitates longer -- a lot longer -- and doesn't bother arguing with you. You tell yourself it's not that they're having trouble, or anything... no, they wouldn't want to back out now. Neither of you would. They're just... searching for the right name. They've had to think of a lot, after all.

You feel like you ought to enjoy the silence, but... it's horrible. You swear you can hear your own heartbeat, hear the blood and water and bile flowing through your disgusting human body. You stare into Papyrus's eyes –- a tiny hint of hope is still gleaming through the pain and misery.

You can't stand it, so you look away.

Frisk finally comes up with a name.

 

_Papyrus. The Ultimate God of Hyperdeath._

_ATK 0. DEF... not enough._

_..._

_........._

_The Most – no._

_Just a **stain** that won't come out. Nothing more._

 

They're right. Just... just a stain. Just a bunch of dirt that thinks it's a person but it's  **not** because if it were a person then this wouldn't be happening, if it were a person then nobody no matter how strong would do this to such a harmless and desperate creature.

It's just dirt, you tell yourself. It doesn't matter how sad its stupid eyesockets look or how much it begged and reasoned with you to reconsider. It doesn't  **matter.** It's dirt to be ground beneath your beaten-up sneakers.

 _What are you waiting for? Prove we're strong. Make us_ _**heroes.** _ _Do it._

They'll still hate you no matter what you do.

You could kill every monster in the whole mountain and you could be the richest kid alive from all the gold you've stolen and you know they'd still treat you the same and call it love and you'd just end up climbing the stupid mountain all over again but this time, **this** time, you'd have the good sense to jump off the summit instead, crash against roots and rocks and thorns instead of a soft little bed of flowers.

 _Do it, Chara. It's in our nature. It's_ _**human** _ _nature._

Your hands and shoulders are shaking and your palms are sweaty and you grip the branch tighter and tighter until the knobbly bark digs into your skin 'cause if you don't you know you're gonna drop it.

 _This is what we do! We kill monsters!_ Frisk is screaming inside your head, the first time you've **ever** heard them raise their voice. _Why are you only hesitating now? You're stronger than this, Chara! Please!_

"Just... dirt," you say. You don't swing the branch.

 

❤ Talk

 

_What are you **doing?**_

"Dirt! That's... that's all you are, you hear me? You're just... you're, you're nothing! You're just a stupid -- you're just..." You sniffle, wipe your nose with the sleeve of your sweater -- it started running at some point, apparently. "You're not -- special -- just, just a..."

_Stop **embarrassing** yourself._

 

❤ Talk

 

_You've got nothing left to say. Besides,_

You're all but bawling now, biting your tongue to try and hold yourself back. Big kids don't cry big kids don't cry big boys -- big  **kids** do not cry, Chara.

_We couldn't even if we wanted to._

 

❤ Talk

 

Frisk doesn't even acknowledge it this time, and you're still in no condition to say anything.

Nothing left but the branch.

You realize your eyes are closed, and force them open. What's left of Papyrus is still managing to smile, just barely, looking at you like a puppy in the window of the shelter.

You toss the stupid, useless hunk of wood on the ground like the garbage it is.

 

❤ Spare

 

You expect a lecture on how you're throwing away everything the two of you have worked for. But Frisk says nothing.

You expect Papyrus to hover away, or maybe just disappear. But... he doesn't. He just gets this really serene, satisfied look on his face, and you want to be angry at it or fulfilled about it or anything anything  **anything** but guilty, but guilty is what you're getting, of course it is.

And then he finally stops. All at once, the skull loses all of its structural integrity, drops to the ground and collapses into a heap of slime. Then the heap slowly dissolves into a pool of liquid.

_...We... won, I guess._

_What's -- what's with that stupid look on your face, Chara?_

_...No, you're right. It... wasn't fun. It wasn't fun at all._

You sit down and pull out a plate of spaghetti you bought from that stall of his back in Hotland. Even after you'd killed everyone else, even after they'd all run off... he was still standing there, offering you cheap food and a friendly conversation.

You don't need the HP, but it feels right. You scoop some dust off the ground and sprinkle it on like parmesan, telling yourself that it's not because of that dumb book you read about funerals, it's 'cause eating him will toughen you up and then you can forget all this ever happened.

Frisk doesn't agree.

_We lost some execution points. I don't know how many. It really doesn't matter._

_We're... only at LV 18, now._

_Do you... wanna reload? We can try again, and maybe just... leave him to his fate. Maybe that won't hurt so much, and then maybe -- I mean, the Queen should definitely get us up to LV 20, I know that much. We can still do this, if... if that's what you want, Chara._

For the first time in a long, long while, you're really not sure that it is.


End file.
